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In 2005 New York’s State Senate wanted to reinstate the death penalty. Curiosity made him spend hours upon hours reading about death row and capital punishment. The first person executed with the electric chair happened right here. It took eight minutes for the man to die. The electrodes seared and singed into his skin causing a most terrible stench to spread throughout the room. Mercer was starting to stink too. She was coughing and her skin was ashen and he could hardly stand looking at her. He felt something for the first time in his life; bile rose and pushed against his throat, his vision turned blurry. She looked so weak. He wanted to take away her cannula and see how long she could go on without.
“Probably a long time, Dex. It’s just supplemental oxygen.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, it’s good that you tell me your thoughts. But it is very important that you don’t act on them.”
He told her that he wouldn’t. Not ever. He’d been good, he’d been doing the things they talked about; routine, rules. He was going to enlist like they’d talked about.
“I think you’ll fit right in,” Mercer said. “It won’t change much for you. Maybe you can even make some friends, hm?”
“I have friends.”
She got that look on her face that he had identified as pity. “I think you’re lonely sometimes, Dex. It’s good to have friends. Intimacy is good. It’s good for our brains and our bodies.”
“I have friends,” Dex repeated and it was as much of a lie the second time. It stuck with him, glued to the inside of his brain, I think you’re lonely sometimes, and when Dex would get to base camp years later he would make an effort because Mercer’s voice would echo around him and because he knew that it was best for him to be around people. There he would follow Sgt. Hansen around because Hansen was good and the other men respected him and Dex could tell himself that he respected Hansen too. The army would be uncomplicated because rules were laid out and easy to follow and to understand. Right until Hansen would pull him aside in his office and sneer, “What is your problem, Poindexter—looking at me like that?” Afterwards, Hansen would cry and sob about his wife and children and Dex would think, why the fuck are you crying, I’m pretty sure you tore my asshole, so Dex would tell him, “Get it together,” and then the army wouldn’t be so uncomplicated anymore.
Ultimately, New York did not reinstate the death penalty. And Mercer died.
/
He wanted to murder the Fisks. That was a simple fact but it kept him up at night and if it didn’t keep him up at night then he dreamt about it. He closed his eyes and he saw blood but when he was awake there was blood too. Different people, same inevitability. Loud guns, shiny knives, red blood. Everything was a dream and nothing was connected and he moved from one dream to the next. And when he’d wake up it was more of the same. It all started to feel senseless but then he’d remember: he wanted to murder the Fisks.
The action-feeling started to come over him and he felt good. He could feel it in the tips of his fingers and twisting deep in his gut; a sense of anticipation that was almost sexual. He hit a man and sent him flying. The man stumbled over his own feet and fell face down on the floor, skidded so his cheek got cut open. His jaw was broken from Dex’ fist and blood poured out onto the hardwood. Dex stared at him. His teeth were shattered and he moaned in agony. Dex’ boot connected with the man’s face and the moaning stopped.
To his left, Murdock hit someone with his baton, yelling as he did. He couldn’t remember if Murdock had been here all along. Red blood, red suit. It was then that Dex noticed how he was hunched forward with a painful snarl on his face. He staggered and someone hit him on the side of the head, Murdock fell down, hitting the ground hard. Dex threw a knife and it lodged itself deep into the ear canal of the man. He landed next to Murdock with a dull thud. The only sound left was Murdock’s raspy breathing.
“Poindexter?”
Dex looked down at Murdock. He was beaten to all hell. “Yeah,” Dex said and hauled Murdock over his shoulder who then passed out from the pain as he was jostled around. “You’re welcome.”
/
He deposited Murdock on the bed. It didn’t look good. Murdock didn’t look good. He was barely lucid. He had a bullet wound on the side of his stomach and his shoulder was fucked. The way that Murdock’s head had bounced off the floor, he probably had a concussion as well. Dex reached down to press on the shoulder, to get a feel for it, and Murdock groaned. The gash wasn’t fatal but he was losing too much blood for Dex’ liking. He got his kit and cleaned the area. Murdock’s body spasmed when Dex pulled the needle through his skin. It was a shit job, he knew that, and it wasn’t nearly enough for a wound this deep. There was blood everywhere.
/
He had sneaked up on the nurse on her way to her car, put her in a chokehold until she went unconscious and then dumped her in the trunk.
“Make him better,” he said now.
“What,” she stuttered.
Dex pointed at Murdock with his gun. “Make him better.”
With shaking hands, she approached Murdock and Dex watched her eyes widen as she saw the wound. “He needs—”
“If you say ‘hospital’ then that just proves you’re useless to me.”
A tear slid down her cheeks. Dex wiped it away and she flinched. He directed her towards the supplies he had stolen and let her work. The shoulder was probably broken, she’d need an x-ray to actually see what was wrong and Dex told that that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. She undid his sloppy stitches and when she started scrubbing the wound, Murdock opened his eyes, yelled, and then passed out again. Her stitches were much nicer than Dex’. She told him how to apply fresh dressings and which medication he needed; definitely antibiotics for the infection and morphine the first few days for the pain.
“How’re you going to get it?”
Dex smiled and she recoiled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.
/
Having Murdock as a house guest wasn’t nearly as fun as Dex had hoped. Mostly he just slept and when he woke he looked at Dex without recognition, too affected by the morphine that Dex administered with precision and care. Murdock’s stubble was coarse and Dex once ran the tip of his finger against it. Murdock had opened his eyes and looked directly at Dex.
“Foggy?”
Dex snorted but something twinged inside him. “No,” he mumbled. Murdock sighed and fell back asleep.
Dex spent the better half of the night reading every article he could on Murdock. His childhood, the accident, Battlin’ Jack Murdock. He read about Nelson and Murdock. Which cases they had taken on, court arguments. Murdock could have defended him. He would understand. He could help him. There were photos on Facebook of parties back when Murdock was in university, a big smile plastered on his face. Dex smiled back. They could have been friends. Dex could have followed Murdock around and learned. Just like Mercer had suggested. I think you’re lonely sometimes. Murdock was good. Men respected him. People liked him.
Murdock was wide awake when Dex entered the room the next day. Murdock jerked up and then promptly threw his head back in pain. “What am I—” he wheezed, “what am I doing here?”
“You’re hurt. I’m taking care of you.”
Murdock’s face was wild like an animal’s. The whites of his eyes were showing and his teeth were bared. “Why?”
“Isn’t it what the good guys do?” Dex approached the bed. “Are you going to try and fight me?”
Murdock twitched. “Maybe not right now.”
“Funny guy.” He gave Murdock a once-over. He was a little less pale. “Are you hungry? You should probably eat something.”
When Murdock didn’t answer, Dex took it upon himself to find some crackers—something easy to digest—and a glass of water. Murdock ate them in petulant silence which Dex found very entertaining. Murdock looked a little less wary but he was also probably still a little high on the meds. Dex helped Murdock limp to the bathroom and watched him splash water on his face and then watched him brush his teeth with the toothbrush Dex had bought him. He was quite proud of himself for remembering these little things.
“You going to watch me take a piss, too?” Murdock said.
He changed the sheets while Murdock took his sweet time in the bathroom. He found some of his clothes for Murdock to wear and placed them on the bed. He paced his apartment up and down, stopping at the bathroom door to listen for any sounds. After about fifteen minutes he couldn’t take it anymore and went in. Murdock was leaning against the sink, his hand touching the sutures on his stomach.
“Did you do this?”
“I had help.”
“From who? Are they okay? What did you do?”
Dex exhaled sharply. “How about a ‘thank you.’”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Murdock was sweating and his hands were trembling. Without further fanfare, Dex went over and hauled Murdock’s arm over his shoulder and walked him back to the bed.
“I’m going to give you your meds now,” Dex said.
“What—what meds?”
“Morphine.”
“No. No. Don’t. It makes me feel—” Murdock gestured at his head and shook it. “Just give me something with paracetamol and ibuprofen. Where’d you get that anyway?”
Dex held the vial in his hand. “Robbed a pharmacy.” He could easily overpower Murdock, inject him and watch him turn docile like a pet. But where was the fun in that.
Dex treaded circles in his apartment, not knowing what to do now that Murdock was awake. Murdock was no longer loopy from the morphine but loopy from the pain and the fever and the concussion. It would have been the perfect time for Dex to go out and take care of the Fisks. No opposition. But it didn’t feel right. He spent three days staring at Murdock on the bed and he kept staring just to keep himself from going backwards. If he thought too long about the fact that Vanessa Marianna was out there and he was in here, he would start to feel a deep personal rage at himself. It made him grind his teeth together to keep from shouting out his self-hatred. The anger was a balloon expanding inside him, pushing up against his mouth and eyes and skin and his ears were ringing. He felt like murdering the universe.
He knew Murdock was awake and he went over to the foot of the bed. He took hold of one of Murdock’s ankles. “I could break this,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to run.”
Murdock struggled against his grip, trying to pull his leg away. “You’re fucked in the head,” he said.
Mercer would have said I don’t think that’s an appropriate response or why do you think I have deserved that or thank you for telling me. “I’m not going to do it.”
Murdock laughed, harsh and rudely. “I’m supposed to be grateful?”
His body reacted before his mind did and he leaped forward, closing his fingers around Murdock’s throat. Murdock hissed through gritted teeth, his body tensed and his hands came up to Dex’ shoulders, trying to push him away but he was too weak in this state. His face grimaced in pain.
“I’m not going to do it,” Dex repeated and eased his grasp on Murdock. “Don’t worry.”
“You,” Murdock gasped. “What am I doing here, Benjamin?”
“I’m taking care of you, Matthew. So yes, maybe you should be grateful.” He jammed a thumb into the gash on Murdock’s stomach. “You’re weak as a kitten. I’m taking such good care of you.”
Murdock was squirming and sweating, pale from exhaustion and fever, and he made a gurgling sound when Dex removed his thumb.
“You seem feverish again,” Dex stated. Murdock didn’t reply, he simply gasped for air. “Let me get you some more antibiotics.”
/
He dreamt about getting his hands on the Fisks. It was this single-handed fantasy of murdering those that had wronged that kept him alive.
A man who only followed the orders of others, a man who didn’t dream, a man who didn’t have goals, was a vegetable. Vanessa had, with her kind voice, made him a tool for her to wield. Ultimately, what made him so angry wasn’t that he had killed at her behest—he had killed for the United States of America but there he had had goals; furthering his rank, having sex with Hansen—but the fact that she had stripped him of his dignity. His hatred was in the humiliation that she had taken away his right to think of himself as a man.
“Hey, what do you think it means to be a man?” Dex was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and spinning a knife with his fingers.
Murdock sighed from the bed. “Well, what did Eileen Mercer tell you?”
Dex gripped the knife so the tips of his fingers turned white. “She’s dead. So I’m asking you.”
Murdock was quiet for a moment. “‘Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love.’ Protect and provide, serve others. Act with love.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“I don’t know. Most days.”
Dex didn’t like the answer. If Murdock didn’t know, how was he supposed to know? “Then what does it mean to be good?”
“Oh, for—I don’t know, Dex. How about you tell me?”
He stared at Murdock and frustration squirmed inside him. He got up. “But I want to know what you think. You can quote the bible at me all fucking day, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. It does fuck-all to explain to the world. If there is a God, He is as far from good as the worst person on Earth.”
At the orphanage they had gone to religious services every Sunday and listened to different preachers tell them that God loved them especially because they were orphans. How they were actually better off as orphans because they didn’t have misguided parents to guide them down the wrong paths of life. That the difference between good and evil, right and wrong, was purely based on feeling; if it felt good it was inherently wrong. The food at the orphanage didn’t taste very good—lumpy oatmeal or boiled-to-death vegetables—but it was healthy and therefore good. Candy, which tasted so good, was wrong. Playing, yelling, jumping, running wild, masturbating were wrong because they disrupted the usual routine. The only reprieve had been baseball because sports teetered the line between good and evil and Dex was very good at it and that was admirable. It was the only thing that was good that was allowed to feel good.
Then each Thursday he’d sit in Mercer’s office and she’d tell him that he needed friends but how could he if having friends meant playing and running wild together and Dex knew already he loved the sweating and the tussling and he loved the praise from the other boys whenever he won them a game of baseball. Mercer said that it was normal and the priests said that pride was sin.
Dex exhaled shakily, exhausted.
“Father Lantom told me that God gave humans free will. We are not puppets. We make our own choices.”
“We have had very different experiences with religion,” Dex said bitterly.
Murdock laughed. “Clearly. Good and evil aren’t as easily divided as they told you.”
“No? So why didn’t you kill Fisk when you had the chance? Why didn’t you let me kill him?”
“You want to argue about the inherent value of murder?” Murdock raised his chin in a maddeningly superior manner. It made Dex want to punch him in the face.
“It’d be a good deed. The world will be better when he’s gone.”
Murdock sat up straighter in the bed. He was getting animated. “A good deed? For whom? For you? What—you think it makes up for everything else you’ve done?” He raised his voice; “For everything you’ve taken from me?”
Dex blinked. The sheets were tangled in Murdock’s fists and his chest was heaving. Dex sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned closer. “Yes. I can take the burden from you.”
Murdock pushed him away, looking disgusted. It didn’t do much. “Another man's evil does not make you good. Men have used the atrocities of their enemies to justify their own throughout history. I won’t sit on my ass and do nothing and watch you kill another person.”
“Even if it’s Wilson Fisk?”
Murdock’s jaw tensed. “Yes.”
Dex grabbed Murdock’s chin. His stubble was getting thick. “I suppose that makes you good, then.” He pushed Murdock’s head back dismissively. “You should probably sleep now. You’re healing nicely.” He heard Murdock scoff as he locked the door behind himself.
/
“So, what was it with Julie Barnes? Were you in love with her?”
Dex was on the floor again. There really wasn’t much to do except staring at Murdock and Murdock didn’t really talk to him unless Dex made him. Until now.
“No. I wasn’t in love with her.”
“You stalked her.”
Dex pressed his fist into his own thigh. It was grounding. “She made me better. She made me… good.”
“How could she? You didn’t talk to her.” Murdock was getting better and healthier and it made him damn cocky.
“I just wanted to see her.”
Murdock made a noise of acknowledgement. Dex didn’t like that Murdock knew this about him. He remembered that Murdock had listened to the tapes between him and Mercer and he didn’t like that very much either.
“You think you’re able to shower?”
“What?”
“You’re stinking up the whole room.”
“I’m not exactly here of my own volition.”
“I think you should shower. Actually, let’s take care of that beard, too.”
Murdock touched his own face. Dex grinned and ushered Murdock into the bathroom.
“This is ridiculous.”
“This is necessary. You look homeless.”
Murdock sat down on the toilet lid. He looked absolutely dismayed and the sight was delightful. “I can do it myself.”
“Sure. Let me see you move your arm.”
Murdock moved his elbow up to a fortyfive degree angle and then closed his eyes in pain. Dex chuckled and slathered shaving foam on Murdock’s face.
“I don’t know if I trust you.”
Dex held up the cheap disposable razor. “I can’t do much damage with this.”
“I can’t fucking see it.”
“You really are a funny guy, Matt Murdock. I’ll give you that.” He placed the razor on Murdock’s cheek and slid it downwards, making a clean line in the lather. Murdock winced as the blades got caught on the hairs.
“Your old man never taught you how to shave?” Murdock bit out.
“No. He died when I was a kid.” Dex stopped the movement and pressed the blades down into Murdock’s skin. “You know this.” When he moved the razor again, it nicked Murdock and a fat bead of blood swelled up. “Whoops.”
Murdock’s jaw worked. “My dad died, too.”
It was thrilling to hear Murdock say how much they were alike. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s really hard.”
Murdock gave him a wan look. Dex drew the razor down his throat. He suddenly remembered watching Hansen shave in the privacy of his own separate bathroom. Hansen didn’t have to use the showers in the barracks with the rest of the scrum. Dex had been watching from the bed, scratchy sheets underneath his bare skin.
He cleared another long line along Murdock’s throat. And another. “I can be useful,” he whispered. “To you. I can be good.”
“We have a very different understanding of ‘good.’”
“You threw me off a building.”
“You killed my friend.”
“And you wanted to kill me.”
The room went quiet. Murdock’s breathing was staggered. Dex had stopped shaving and the razor was loose in his grip. He pulled it up to Murdock’s face again and shaved the other side in silence.
“But I didn’t,” Murdock suddenly said.
“No. Does that make it worse or better for you? That I’m living, breathing proof of the fact that you wanted to?” He grabbed Murdock’s hand and guided it to the deep cut on his cheek. The reminder.
Murdock shook his head. “What do you want from me?”
“I already told you.” Dex released him. There was still a little bit of foam clinging to Murdock’s earlobe and Dex swiped it away. “All done,” he said and stepped back.
Murdock rinsed his face in the sink, bent down and splashed water on himself. The muscles in his back rippled and the knobs of his spine protruded out, saying touch me touch me. There was a loud droning noise surrounding Dex. A fear of suffocation, of being strangled by the sounds, came over him.
Do you know how lonely you are?
He startled. He heard Mercer’s voice in his head all the time but this sounded nothing like her. This one was mean and mocking.
He reached out and snaked his hand up along Murdock’s skin. Murdock stiffened. Dex wrapped himself around him and pressed his face between his shoulder blades. He had done this with Hansen who had always liked it before he would start moaning about his wife and kids. He had followed Hansen stateside, knocked on his door and saw Hansen’s face fall when he opened. Dex had felt it for the second time then; his body went rigid, anger pushed up against his throat like he was going to vomit, his vision blurred. He started to sweat. He wished bitterly that Hansen had died over there because it would have been easier to live with. Instead he had to live with the fact that he was unwanted and alone. He had felt it again when Julie left him, before he knew that Fisk had done her in.
Murdock was tense in his arms and Dex burrowed deeper, wanting nothing but to be as close to Murdock as possible.
“Dex.”
With the dreadful clarity of self-pity, he saw himself for who he was; a whiny, frightened baby who couldn’t make the world like him. He reeled away from Murdock and wiped furiously at his eyes.
“Fuck off,” he said. “Take off your clothes.”
Murdock’s muscles flexed like he was gearing up for a fight.
“Take off your fucking clothes.”
Neither of them moved. Slowly, Murdock took his joggers and underwear off. He hadn’t been wearing a t-shirt. Dex let himself look. He ferociously missed sex, suddenly, and he hated himself for wanting something so simple in his life.
“Go take that shower.”
“You going to watch me?”
“Maybe. Don’t want to risk you slipping and breaking your neck. That would be tragic.”
Murdock looked like he wanted to punch Dex. The feeling was mutual. Dex stepped closer.
“Go on. Do it.”
Murdock’s fist slid along Dex’ cheek. Then again. Dex spat blood onto the white tiles. He sighed. It was good—like it had jostled his brain back into place. He punched Murdock so Murdock’s head snapped up and blood immediately leaked out of his nose. Murdock was still weak and he lost his balance but Dex grabbed him before he fell.
“Alright, Murdock,” he said. He felt remote. “I’m sorry.”
Murdock staggered out and Dex looked at himself in the mirror when he heard the door open and close a minute later. He spat again and smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, he knew that.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the reflection.
“I’m so sorry,” he tried again. He bared his teeth. It was like a chimpanzee’s grin. “I apologise.” Now there was a word. “Forgive me.” Too much. He shook himself loose. “I’m so sorry.”
Julie had that kind of smile that spread across her whole face. It pushed her cheeks up and made the skin around her eyes crinkle and sometimes her forehead would crease too, when she was particularly endeared. He contorted his face. He thought of Murdock’s face, open and handsome, friendly and welcoming. Dex tried again. He looked ridiculous. Anger buzzed underneath his skin and there was a loud roaring in his ears. He hated Mercer for making him think he could be normal. He hated Murdock, viciously, for being everything he couldn’t be. Most importantly, he hated Murdock for leaving. For not understanding. He tore open his cabinet and stared at a bottle of acetic acid. He wanted to pour it into his own eyes. He didn’t.
/
Now that he had seen Murdock naked, he couldn’t stop thinking about sex. He was sure he had conquered his sexual desire, not out of shame, but simply because he had three options; sexual encounters with strangers, masturbation, or abstinence. Strangers were unappealing. Masturbation got boring quickly so he had gotten to know abstinence particularly well. No one dared approach him in prison.
Murdock had been in his bed, a warm body that grew more attractive each night Dex was without him. He could hardly stand it. Sex was like an itch and now that he had scratched it, it was only itching that much worse. He just had to do without until he couldn’t feel it anymore.
He killed some more of the task force, it felt pretty good, like he was productive. Knowing that it likely made the Fisks a little more nervous, was certainly the icing on the cake but that would never be enough. He dreamt and he was awake and sometimes he was helpless against the anger inside him and all he could do was scream into the pillow or beat people up, watch the blood splatter and hope that it made him feel just a bit better. Hatred burned inside him—or maybe it was pain. He knew people suffered agony and maybe what he felt was agony, too. Maybe he really was lonely. Or maybe it was self-pity again.
/
He woke in the night to the feeling of not being alone. Murdock was in his room, standing with his back to the wall. He was an unmistakable silhouette even in the dark, even without his horns. Dex pushed himself up to sit. The lights of the city flooded in, painting the side of Murdock’s face in yellow as he moved closer to the foot of the bed. Dex could smell Murdock’s cologne and it made him dizzy with expectation and he got hard almost immediately. Murdock hadn’t smelled like anything before—sweat and blood perhaps, the human body and nothing more.
“You’re back,” he said hopefully.
“God help me. What do you want from me, Poindexter?”
Confidence surged inside him. “Wilson Fisk. Vanessa Marianna.”
“You really want to kill them.”
“You know I do. Don’t you? After everything they’ve done?”
Murdock shook his head and laughed. “We don’t get to make that decision.”
Dex wanted to get out of bed but he was sure that if he moved, Murdock would bolt. “Is that why you jumped in front of my bullet?”
“You don’t get to make a martyr out of him. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“Then what does he deserve?”
“Prison. He deserves to see everything he’s worked for fall apart. To be alone. To know that everyone sees him for who he really is.”
“You’ve tried that, Matt. It doesn’t work. He gets luxury. He gets out. Every. Time.”
“It’ll be different. I’ll get him—”
“You won’t. It won’t make a difference.”
Murdock stepped back again. “Shut up. You won’t make a killer out of me.”
“I almost did.”
Murdock’s mouth snapped shut. “We’re talking in circles.”
“So, why are you here—if not for riveting conversations like these.”
Murdock moved fast, one hand on Dex’ shoulder, pinning him down and the other shoved into Dex’ boxers. Murdock jerked him off fast and dry. Dex moaned.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes. No,” Dex panted. “I want your cock in my mouth and in my ass.”
“Jesus Christ. You are all kinds of fucked up.”
Homosexual desire was probably the most normal thing about him. Dex laughed and he grabbed Murdock between the legs, squeezed his erection, and Murdock yelped.
“I’ll beg,” Dex said.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking beg.” Murdock’s fist sped up. It was just on the right side of painful and Dex groaned.
His whole body was on fire like he was getting ready for a fight. He looked at Murdock’s expression only to find that it mirrored his own. He came so suddenly and so hard that it felt like his dick exploded and then he was floating. He drifted slowly back into his body with a smile on his face. Murdock wiped his hand on the sheets with a disgusted look.
Dex surged up, practically fell off the bed and landed on his knees. He pushed Murdock back until he had him pinned against the wall and opened his pants. Murdock didn’t protest; he was hard and Dex knew what to do about that. Murdock grunted, one hand twisting in Dex’ hair, the other digging into the meat of his shoulder. Dex worked up some spit in his mouth, opened his throat and sucked like his life depended on it. Murdock said something and then both hands were on Dex’ shoulders and he was leaning forward so that Dex’ forehead bumped into Murdock’s stomach. Murdock’s abs and quads flexed and Dex knew he had him. When Murdock came, it was with a groan, still curled around Dex. Murdock panted and sagged against the wall. Dex went with him, mouth still around his cock.
“Get off,” Murdock said and pushed him back. Murdock’s hands were trembling as he closed his pants again.
Dex wiped his mouth with his hand and stood up. “You and me,” he started, “we’re connected. I know you feel it too. We’re so alike, we’ve gone through the same things and I want to learn, you could teach me, it’d be perfect. You and me. When I think of you, I want to be better and that’s good. We’ve got it. Don’t you agree? This right here; that was nice but we don’t have to do that again if you don’t want to. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you and me.”
Murdock’s face was unreadable. “I came here—” Murdock dug around in his pocket and then procured a tape. “—to give you this.”
Dex’ mouth went dry. It was a tape of one of his therapy sessions with Mercer that Murdock had stolen from his apartment. “I don’t want it.”
“Yeah. You do, Dex. You need it.”
Dex shook his head. Murdock took his hand and placed the tape in his palm. Murdock moved slowly but Dex didn’t care. He was staring at the tape.
Before Murdock left, Dex whispered: “But don’t you agree? You and me?”
Murdock tilted his head away from Dex. “No,” he said.
“I killed some birds.”
“Oh? How did that make you feel?”
There was a pause.
“Use your words, Dex.”
“It didn’t feel like anything. I don’t care about the birds.”
“That’s okay. Why did you kill them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dex.”
“To see if I could.”
“Okay. And you could.”
“Yeah. It was—I had this rock. Actually it was more like a pebble. And I wanted to see if I could hit both birds. I could! It was—it was—”
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“It felt good. It looked cool, the way the stone bounced. It was so easy, too.”
“Alright. Remember what I told you after what happened with coach Bradley? I’m helping you understand right from wrong—”
“I know it was wrong.”
“But you chose to do it anyway?”
“Because I don’t care about the birds.”
“It’s important to me that you know that we don’t do that. We don’t kill animals to see if we can or to see what might happen if we do. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“I heard the baseball team named you MVP again. That must’ve felt pretty good right? Have you been hanging out with the boys after practice, like I suggested?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, Dex. That’s really good. I’m so proud of you.”